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The impetus of this paper derives from courses and lectures that the author attended at the 1987 LSA Summer Institute at Stanford University. The author
is particularly grateful to the instructors of two courses, Deborah Schiffrin and
Herbert Clark, for their clarity of exposition and enthusiasm. Financial assistance
toward the preparation of this material was generously provided by Loyola University of Chicago.
Poetics Today 10:4 (Winter 1989). Copyright ? 1989 by The Porter Institute for
Poetics and Semiotics. ccc 0333-5372/89/$2.50.
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704
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705
other. All the same, one does not sense any dynamic mutual engagement of linguistic and literary interests in these studies. Where insights
from one field are drawn on in the other, the direction of flow seems
almost invariably to be from discourse theory into literary criticism
rather than vice versa.
In part, this lack of interplay may be due to a certain snobbishness
on the part of the literary community. Some blame, however, also accrues to discourse theorists, who repeatedly prioritize what Michael
Agar (1985: 147) calls a "favorite type of discourse... 'natural conversation.'" To be fair, some authors who routinely exclude written, let
alone literary, discourse from their work do take time out to deny that
they do so because of "any theoretical primacy we accord conversation" (Schegloff and Sacks 1973: 289). At the opposite extreme, however, are repeated and, so far as I can tell, unargued assertions by
other scholars that "conversation is a more basic, unmarked mode
of communication than other communicative genres" (Schiffrin 1988:
sec. 0). Such overt privileging of conversation seems to me unhelpful for reasons which this paper will demonstrate. For the moment,
however, I mention it only as one possible reason for the very evident
absence to date of fruitful interaction between discourse theory and
literary studies.
In this paper, I explore some ground shared by linguists, sociologists, and literary theorists in a way which illustrates the complex interconnectedness of these three fields.' First, in sections 2 and 3, I use
the techniques of one discourse-analysis approach, conversation analysis, to isolate and characterize an apparently anomalous discourse in a
literary text, William Wordsworth's "Resolution and Independence."
Next, in section 4, I argue that a second type of discourse theory,
structural narratology, allows us to explain how it is that the conversational infelicities in this poem are generally overlooked by readers
who encounter them in their literary context. Finally, in section 5, I
suggest that evidence from this literary case may be reapplied by discourse theorists in nonliterary contexts to account for some otherwise
baffling data from everyday conversation.
2. "Resolutionand Independence"
William Wordsworth wrote "Resolution and Independence" late in
the spring of 1802. It constitutes one contribution to what may be
seen as a protracted poetic debate between him and Samuel Taylor
1. Gumperz (1982: 15) notes one other rather isolated case of interaction among
these three fields at the level of theory: the extension of Kenneth Pike's etic/
emic distinction from phonological theory into both anthropological and critical
vocabularies.
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706
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707
members the old man belongs to: "'What occupation do you there
pursue?'" (88).
Before we hear the old man's reply, Wordsworth's narrator once
again supplies us with an apparently extraneous but useful and extremely realistic nonlinguistic detail: "Ere he replied, a flash of mild
surprise / Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes" (90-91).
A number of discourse theorists have noted that conversations constitute creations to which speaker and listener alike contribute vital
material of both verbal and nonverbal kinds (Merritt 1976: 317; Clark
and Schaefer 1987: 19). Yet we have relatively few opportunities to
explore the nonverbal dimension of discourse structure because, as
Susan Philips (1976: 83) laments, tape recordings, the most common
source of analysts' data, "do not capture the listener's contribution
to the regulation of interaction." (Students of literary discourse must
of course struggle with a still more impoverished corpus; what one
might call "standard" literary reports of spoken dialogue lack even
the limited information that tape recordings can supply about pauses,
most details of intonation, and speed of delivery.) Wordsworth's narrator, therefore, is unusually helpful in alerting us to the fact that
the old man shows heightened interest at this point, where the banter of everyday conversational pleasantries gives way to signs of an
impending more sustained and (referentially as opposed to socially)
meaningful conversation.
It should not surprise us, then, that the old man replies at some
length to the narrator's simple query. Rather than merely name his
occupation, he both describes and, to some extent, even evaluates it:
He told, that to these watershe had come
To gather leeches, being old and poor:
Employmenthazardousand wearisome.
And in this way he gained an honest maintenance.
(99-105)
Commentary (106-17)
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708
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709
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710
on
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71 1
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712
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713
should be viewed as an attempt to imply that the old man has misidentified the discourse context in which the query is framed.
It is one of the advantages of analyzing conversation that the (un-)
acceptability of individual parts of a discourse need not be alleged
as the expert opinion of "professional analysts." Instead, discourseinternal evidence may be adduced for the success or failure of each
contribution. In the case of failure, in particular, "the parties themselves address the talk as revealing a misunderstanding in need of
repair" (Schegloff 1987: 204). Indeed, upon close examination, each
contribution to a discourse can be shown to reveal (to the interlocutors
themselves as well as to the analyst) how prior contributions have been
understood by the participants (see Clark and Schaefer 1987). In our
particular case, the availability of such rich evidence puts a quick stop
to our emerging analysis of the narrator's reiterated question as mere
refocusing of his initial query. Not only does the narrator himself refer to his second question as an unelaborated "renewal" but, as we
have observed, it prompts only a repetition of the old man's story, not
any adaptation of it to some previously unnoticed discourse context.
Reluctantly, then, we must abandon our explanation of this dialogue
as "replay as recontextualization."
Why else might a replay be requested by a participant in a conversation? Alas, we are now driven back to the simplest but least attractive
of all explanations: the possibility that the narrator's question reveals
simply that he has altogether failed to process the leech gatherer's
first response. His repetition thus constitutes the functional equivalent
of the conversational "What?" or "What did you say?" (Merritt 1976:
332 n. 29 and sources cited there). This hypothesis fails, of course, to
explain the old man's remarkable good humor in the face of the narrator's rudeness, and it brings us uncomfortably close to Lewis Carroll's
view of the poem. All the same, it does seem to be the only explanation
compatible with the findings of the conversational analysts to date.
In an everyday context, of course, this conclusion would not be so
surprising; misunderstandings and even social gaffes commonly occur
in discourse, and repairs are not always made verbally. What then
disturbs us so much when it occurs in a poetic context? The root of
our unease lies, I suspect, in the fact that this conversation is part of
(indeed, represents the bulk of) a narrative, a discourse form which
imposes its own constraints and its own expectations. It may repay us,
therefore, to review this puzzling passage from this second discourse
perspective.
4. The Narrative Dimension
Most sociologists who have investigated narrative discourses, and they
are many, have focused their attention on oral narratives (Labov 1972;
Schiffrin 1981, 1984a; Polanyi 1985). A strong initial hypothesis, how-
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714
ever, would surely be that what holds for oral narratives should also
be true in written, and even in consciously literary, texts. We might
further suppose that our hypothesis should hold most firmly for those
analytical findings about discourse structure that seem most theoretically fundamental and uncontroversial, and for those literary texts
that most clearly simulate first-person oral narration. In particular, it
seems improbable that a literary narrative such as "Resolution and Independence" should evade that most basic of all narrative imperatives:
that it "make a point" (Polanyi 1985: 187).
"A story," Bruce (1981: 278) observes, "is told by someone to someone with some purpose." Indeed, it has been repeatedly pointed out
in the literature that each story we tell or hear is carefully designed
and delivered so as to forestall that most damning of all criticisms of
narrative technique: "So what?" (Labov and Fanshel 1977: 105, 108).4
Furthermore, since all narratives consist at their most elementary level
of a series of reported events (Labov 1972: 360), it must be in those
events that the integrity of a given narrative as a "tellable" story finally
resides. "No event in and of itself," to borrow Livia Polanyi's (1985:
196) summary, "is important-it is significant only in some context....
'A man got murdered sometime' is not, in itself, a particularly tellable
story." The reader who wishes to understand the dynamics of Wordsworth's account of his meeting with the leech gatherer as narrative,
then, is confronted with two tasks: first, to determine what constitutes
"the events" in this particular story; second, to relate those events to
some overall narrative purpose that they may be seen collectively to
serve. Let us take those tasks one at a time.
I shall not rehearse here the characteristics of "event clauses" in English narratives; Polanyi (ibid.) summarizes them effectively and cites
relevant discussions from the literature. In any case, it seems to me
4. Livia Polanyi (1985) gives formal status to the issue of the purposefulness of
narratives by explicitly distinguishing a story, "a recital of events and circumstances
[that] must ... be told to communicate some message about the world in which
the speaker and hearer actually live," from a narrative, which may be used without
such a context. The latter case, she argues, results in hearers perceiving that the
speaker has "abused his access to the floor, .... adding nothing substantive to what
was being said" (ibid.: 189). A still stronger claim is made by William Brewer and
Edward Lichtenstein (1981: 367), who would reserve the term story for "narrative
structures organized so as to produce surprise and resolution."
The issue of the degree and quality, so to speak, of the point a narrative makes is
by no means trivial, even in a literary context (Polanyi 1985: 197); contemporaries
criticized Wordsworth and Coleridge's Lyrical Ballads both for sensationalism (excessive "surprise and resolution") and for pointlessness. One has also to bear in
mind, of course, derivative or self-referential narratives, such as Carroll's parody,
in which the point is precisely to comment on how some other story has made its
point. Despite these complications, however, a more generic approach at this stage
in our discussion will not seriously misrepresent the majority of cases.
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715
D
D
(90-91)
he told that...
(99)
former
My
thoughts returned (113)
My question eagerly did I renew (118)
He ... did then his words repeat / And said that ...
D
D
(120-21)
He . . . the same discourse renewed (133)
with this he other matter blended (134)
that one can quite reasonably appeal to our natural sense of narrative
intuition to distinguish clauses that move the narrative forward in what
Polanyi calls the "story-world" from those that merely relate states of
affairs, habitual actions, evaluative commentary, and so on. I have relied on just such a naive notion to draw up the array of event clauses
from stanzas 8 to 20 of "Resolution and Independence" that appears
as Table 1. The first and most obvious remark to make about this list
is that it contains an overwhelming preponderance of conversational
events (many of them, indeed, realized as conventional conversational
"tags," such as "he told" and "I said"). The first event clause listed
in Table 1 need not concern us at this point; I have labeled it O to
indicate its status as part of the narrator's fairly extensive orientation
section, to which we shall return below. The clause in lines 139-40,
by the same token, constitutes the coda (C) to the narrative and will
also attract our attention in due course. But, as the D (for discourse)
prefixed to the great majority of the remaining clauses in Table 1 is
meant to indicate, the principal impetus propelling this narrative is in
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716
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717
Reader
Narrator\
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718
the first eleven stanzas of the poem. In these lines, the narrator describes the pleasant pastoral setting for the beginning of his country
walk ("on the moors / The hare is running races in her mirth" [10-11]);
he reconstructs his own mental state immediately before the meeting
with the old man ("I thought of Chatterton" [43]; "When I with these
untoward thoughts had striven" [53]); and he sketches the bleaker
scenery amidst which he will later find the leech gatherer ("Beside a
pool bare to the eye of heaven" [54]). How does this extensive and detailed narrative orientation help us to understand the "complicating
action" that follows it?
The mention of Chatterton may offer a starting point; his inclusion, after all, seems at first quite extraneous to the events of the leech
gatherer episode, although our expectations of coherence between the
orientation and complication sections of narratives lead us to assume,
and to seek, some measure of relevance. Of Chatterton, the narrator stresses three things: his youth ("marvellous Boy"6), his animated
nature ("sleepless Soul"), and his untimely death ("that perished in
his pride"). This brief portrait contrasts strikingly with the impression
created by the leech gatherer when the narrator first observes him
several stanzas later. "The oldestman ... that ever wore grey hairs" is
described only as "not all alive nor dead, / Nor all asleep"(my italics),
barely more animate than the drab surroundings in which he lives,
"motionless as a cloud." Indeed, the narrator thereafter takes great
care to reiterate and even reinforce these characteristics of his interlocutor. The only two event clauses marked in Table 1 as not denoting
conversational exchanges refer to the narrator's startled recognition
first of the old man's animation and then of his humanness: "He ...
stirred" and "a flash of . . . surprise / Broke from . . . his yet-vivid
eyes."
This dominant physical contrast between Chatterton and the old
leech gatherer surely leads us to anticipate contrast at a second level:
As Chatterton was a gifted poet, the logic goes, so this old fellow,
who is in other respects his opposite, should turn out to be virtually
mute, as paralyzed verbally as he seems to be in other, physical re6. Wordsworth's use of the term boy here is more heavily weighted than might at
first appear. I discuss below the relationship between "Resolution and Independence" and "Ode: Intimations of Immortality," which Wordsworth had composed
a few years before. Of interest to the present discussion is that boy is one of a
number of words that appear in both texts, so that its appearance here necessarily
evokes the fuller context of its use in the earlier work. The central section of the
ode, strophe 5, describes the progress of man from birth (58) through boyhood
(68), youth (71), and manhood (75). Applying this scale to Chatterton, we find that
he, as a "Boy," "beholds the light" of poetic inspiration but is never subject to the
"shades of the prison-house" that "close" around the maturing adult.
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719
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720
with the leech gatherer. At level 1, the leech gatherer consciously advocates perseverance in the face of adversity; at level 0 he unknowingly
provides the skeptical narrator with living, breathing proof that old
age need not render one mute. Furthermore, I have suggested that
my level 0 analysis accounts for one of the more baffling aspects of
the dialogue that passes between the narrator and the old man: the
reiterated question. We are, however, not yet out of the woods, for we
have not yet explained the old man's good humor despite his being
treated like a clockwork toy by his nosy and inattentive interlocutor.
Conversational analysis, as the preceding sections of this essay have
shown, would predict that this essentially nonserious use of language
should anger a participant like the leech gatherer, who after all is not
privy to the narrator's motives at level 0 and thus should expect his
contributions to be treated in the usual, "serious" way. To understand
the point of the old man's mysterious smile and even temper, then, we
shall have to look elsewhere. We begin by noting that Figure 1 does
not, in fact, give a comprehensive picture of the narrative form of this
poem.
The author of "Resolution and Independence" did not in the first
instance intend it for commercial publication. Rather, as I observed
at the beginning of section 2, the poem occupies a special place in
the remarkable decade-long exchange of poems between Wordsworth
and Coleridge that took them from their extraordinarily productive
collaboration between 1797 and 1800 to the beginnings of the rift that
would part them completely in 1810 (see Prickett 1970: ch. 6; Margoliouth 1953). One may dispute where exactly to fix both the first and
last contributions to what Stephen Prickett (1970: 167) repeatedly and
insightfully refers to as this "poetic dialogue"; it may begin as early as
July 1798 with Wordsworth's composition of "Tintern Abbey," and its
echoes may still be detected in Coleridge's lines to Wordsworth after
his reading the so-called 1805 Prelude in 1806-7. But the conceptual
core of this dialogue undoubtedly consists of three great statements
about poetic inspiration: Wordsworth's "Ode: Intimations of Immortality," Coleridge's "Dejection: An Ode," and finally "Resolution and
Independence" itself.
Dating the three poems is complicated by the fact that all three
underwent considerable revision. The "Immortality Ode" consists of
two sections known to have been written at different times, and most
of "Dejection" originated, though not in print, as "Letter to Asra,"
a work with a quite different addressee and purpose. What matters
for our concerns is that, thematically, these three poems do represent
essentially ordered contributions to the two men's debate over the evanescence of poetic insight. Thus the opening lines of the "Immortality
Ode," "There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream .. .," are
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Wordsworth -o-
Narrator
Leech gatherer --
721
Coleridge \
Reader\
Narrator
...
[speakers]
use a
cohesive device to show that understanding the interactional meaning of the story requires reference to prior conversation." If this is
so, however, it also suggests that we need to stipulate a more complex
narrative structure for "Resolution and Independence" than we have
worked with thus far. I propose the overall form shown in Figure 2,
in which I have modified Bruce's numbering system to allow positive integers to denote narrative layers immediately evident within the
text of the poem, while layers carrying negative indices can only be
inferred by the reader.
We may note in passing that independent considerations confirm
the necessity of the additional narrative layer shown in Figure 2 as
level -1. For although, as we noted in section 2, the narrator claims
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722
as a part of his level 0 narration not to be able to follow the old man's
first reply ("nor word from word could I divide"), the text that we read
still contains a meticulous report of its substance. Readers accept here,
I suggest, the tacit intrusion of the poet himself at level -1 into the
telling of the level 0 story.7
The relationship between level 0 and level -1 in this poem is an intriguingly indirect one. Whereas level + 1 fits into level 0 by means of
standard conversational practice, as we noted above, a more conscious
artifice on Wordsworth's part relates the two "higher" levels. The crucial clue to the nature of that relation lies in Oswald Doughty's (1981:
205) observation that "a portrait of Coleridge at this time, a slightly
critical one, appears in 'The Leech-Gatherer'-now better known as
'Resolution and Independence.'" Doughty points out the many biographical parallels that link the description of the narrator early in
this poem, who questions why "others should / Build for him, sow for
him, and at his call / Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all"
(40-42), with Coleridge's own cloying dependency on William and
Dorothy in 1801-2. Coleridge, a hypochondriac, unhappily married
and already addicted to opium, leaned heavily on his friends during
these years while still suffering frequent pangs of guilt over his own
lack of productivity. Thus it is Coleridge's voice, not Wordsworth's,
that we hear echoing the strains of "Dejection" at the beginning of
"Resolution and Independence." Wordsworth daringly takes up the
story of Coleridge's stormy night exactly where it left off, extending
it into the following day without shifting from the first-person narration of the original into the third-person framework that we would
naturally expect. The ostensibly first-person I is categorically not the
poet himself-another justification, if we needed one, for the concept
of narrative layering.
But if it is Coleridge who is characterized as the narrator in this
poem, then where (if anywhere) does Wordsworth figure in the level 0
or + 1 narrative? Wordsworth, I suggest, realizes his own point of view
at level + 1, in the person of the old man. The doctrine of stoic endurance, after all, of pursuing "dwindling" opportunities for whatever
they are worth, is exactly what is espoused more enthusiastically in the
"Immortality Ode"; and the "flash of mild surprise" that is glimpsed
in the leech gatherer's eyes picks up tellingly on Wordsworth's metaphor, recurrent in other contributions to this poetic debate, for those
evanescent "gleams" of poetic insight that represent the last hope of
7. The usefulness of this line in my attempt to justify a "higher" narrative layer for
the text was first suggested to me by some similar instances detected by Herbert
Clark (personal communication) in quite different, conversational contexts (see
section 5).
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Wordsworthx --
Narratory i
Leech gathererx--
723
" Coleridge
Reader \
Narrator \
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724
that the only possible response to them has already been given and
that "renewing the question," however earnestly or eagerly, cannot
educe a different response, at least from this responder. To that extent, Wordsworth may be seen as seeking politely to terminate this
dialogue. Indeed, if one characterizes the dialogue as having consisted
of a dynamic exchange of mutually responsive positions on a common theme, "Resolution and Independence" does occupy the final
turn, since whatever poems one seeks to add to it as afterthoughts
are neither as closely linked nor as personal as those that have gone
before.
5. Closing Remarks
This paper begins with the observation of an apparent violation in the
text of "Resolution and Independence" of the conventions that, conversational analysts have proposed, govern "turns of talk." No amount
of contextualization, I argue in section 3, can explain that violation
naturally, that is, explain it as having occurred in some realistic though
highly specialized discourse setting. Instead, we find it necessary to
begin by acknowledging the preemptive importance of a series of embedded narrative contexts for the dialogue in which the violation has
occurred. Since one or more points are being made with the same
material at each of a series of different levels, various aspects of the
perceived conversational deviancy can be satisfactorily accounted for
through appeal to those functions in narrative context.
There is much that has not been considered here. Prickett (1970:
166) says of this poem that "it is hard to read it as not addressed to
Coleridge." The fact remains that, with a brief autobiographical introductory note that served only to muddy the waters, "Resolution
and Independence" was eventually published and hence directed to
a wholly new audience, as shown in Figure 4. A full treatment of the
poem would naturally need to take note both of level -2 and of the
complexities of the relationship between it and level -1, itself only
an extratextual construct. My purpose in this essay, however, has not
been to conduct an exhaustive analysis of a single work. Rather, I
hope to have established by demonstration the practical usefulness
of discourse theories of several types both in raising and in resolving important questions about literary texts. The anomaly detected in
the course of my analysis at level + 1 of Wordsworth's poem is quite
adequately handled through appeal to structural aspects of levels 0
and -1; the overarching presence of level -2 in no way complicates
or simplifies this particular argument.
A final note of interest to linguists, stylists, and literary scholars
alike: This analysis indicates that, at least in the case of this poem, the
narrative imperative of making a point may, under the right condi-
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Wordsworth- W
o
thoede
Reader
Wordsworth
x --
Coleridge\
Narratory
--
"Reader"
725
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726
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727
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728
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